Respect It
by Pandasushiroll
Summary: The age old argument between Black Widow and Hawkeye of which is better. Guns or Bows and Arrows? (In which Clint Barton teaches Natasha how to use a Bow and Arrow) BlackHawk! Clint/Natasha. Black Widow/Hawkeye!


Respect It

xXx

She would choose using a gun over a bow and arrow any day.

He doesn't see why.

"The problem with a gun," Clint starts in with that sarcastic jib of his, "is that it just isn't reliable. Y'know?" He was shuffling through his large array of trick arrows in the middle of the living room. Which by the way, was freakishly spacious. All of his furniture was shoved up against the walls as if he had been making space for some secret ritual. Though sparring room was much more likely.

Natasha picked up the closest arrow to her and wrinkled her nose. "So what you're saying is; a gun is a lot like every man on earth?"

Clint snorted in response. "Not what I meant, Tasha."

She had chosen the net arrow of all things. Which basically consisted of an arrow tip with a ridiculously huge net crammed into it. Why on earth Clint thought that throwing a net over an enemy would keep them occupied for anything more than five seconds was beyond her. Couldn't they just toss it off themselves? It didn't even tangle.

The net was leaking out of the tip, and she found herself smirking at the irony. A premature deploy? How like Clint Barton.

"Really? And what could possibly be the use of this?" Natasha pointed the mess of a net arrow at him. He finally looked up from his project of restringing his bow. Don't even get him started on the Amex Black. Worked like a dream—no, _better _than a dream. There weren't enough fantasies to elaborate on how freaking _efficient _and _awesome _this bow all around was.

"Aw, Tasha, c'mon. That's my **net arrow**. It's a classic." He shuffled around for a moment, and plucked a different arrow out of the cluster of unmarked trick arrows.

"Like this here." Clint held it up for her to inspect and clearly be impressed. "**Boomerang arrow, **Tasha."

She quirked a perfectly maintained red brow at him, but he continued on. "It comes _back _to you in the end. **Boomerang. **Respect it."

Now he just sounded like the teenager he dressed as. Natasha gave him a look. The look that said, "Really, Clint? _Really?_'"

He feigned ignorance. (Or was that supposed to be innocence?)

"Why the _hell _would you need an arrow that comes back to you after you shoot it?"

That gave Clint pause. His face scrunched up in thought. "Because…Boomerangs." He tried unsuccessfully to ignore the blatant eye-roll he received for that answer. How else could he explain the undeniable awesomeness of using a bow and arrow? To him the perks were obvious. The Amex Black winked at him as he shifted around the piles around him. Then it hit him.

_Lightbulb._

"Tasha," He drawled, climbing up to his feet proved to be a lot more work after the stress of saving the world wore out the body. But he managed. The red head peered over her exposed shoulder. "I'll show you."

Completely restrung and freshly cleaned, the Amex Black was ready to go.

Natasha held the air of uncertainty exactly thirty three seconds before crossing the living room with purposeful strides, halting at his side. Clint grinned and extended his arm in a vague gesture to urge her on passed him.

Perfect red brows once again quirked, but she picked forward around the mess at their feet to stand in front of one of the many targets in his apartment.

Clint snatched a practice arrow from out of nowhere as if by magic and stood behind her.

Hello tight pants and revealing tank top. Natasha was so much smaller up close. And a lot more…well,_ hot_.

But he tried not to focus on that.

The key word there being "_tried_".

It felt natural, the way his arms wrapped around her to hand her Amex. Her arms were just long enough and flexible, stretching the bow with ease experimentally. The way she just seemed to _fit _against him perfectly, as he guided her arms. She was warm, but not nearly as warm as he was becoming. Her hands almost seemed too small to hold the arrow to Amex, but the bow was accommodating. As was Clint. He steadied her arms, adjusted her stance, let one hand settle on her hip, the other on her shoulder.

Natasha was tense as a result of this intimacy.

So naturally, he pressed his mouth to her ear to give her directions.

"Pull back,"

The wire tensed.

"Keep your back straight."

Her back muscles tighten and lock.

"Breathe in,"

She slows her breathing, and Clint begins to think that maybe Natasha is perfect.

"Breathe out."

She exhales.

"Now you're going to relax your hand, and as you do that just let go."

She does as he says, and just as she relaxes her hand- a bull's-eye.

See? Perfect.

If Clint could find any other word, a more creative and expressive way of expressing the expressions that came to mind at the thought of the red head currently sort-of in his arms, he would have used it. Unfortunately, he just wasn't that creative of a guy.

He was finding it too difficult to pull away from her just yet, so he didn't. Even when she tilted her head back, unintentionally giving him _quite _the view down her shirt, to give him another look.

Natasha eyed him with an expression he wasn't meant to be able to read, and even relaxed into his grip when it shifted to his full embrace. "Clint," She started, eyelids drooping. "We can't-"

"Yeah, I know." But he abruptly gripped her hips and swung her around-pressing his mouth to hers anyway. And just this once, she followed his lead.

The next few moments were a mesh of lips, tongues, and just a little bit of teeth. Clint crowded her backward against the already crowded wall-how he managed to find the _space-_ hands stroking up and down her sides, occasionally slipping behind her to paw at her back.

She took it a step further, fingers twisting in and fisting a handful of cropped brown hair and yanking to break the onslaught of kisses. He barely had time to hiss in response. A blazing trail was left in the wake of the places her lips touched, the equivalent of butterflies dancing along his jaw, down his neck, across just the top of his clavicle.

Clint could feel her smile at the quiet groans he tried to restrain. Natasha wanted to see how much she could get away with, despite her earlier protest. She gasped when he roughly grabbed her ass and hauled her legs up and around his waist.

Well, then.

xXx

Somehow Clint managed to remain standing after the particularly heated make-out-almost-turned-sex session. He wasn't about to complain about how Natasha had practically just tongue-fucked him right there.

They were both panting into each-others mouths at this point, Natasha dropping her head to rest against his shoulder.

"So?" He readjusted his hold on her and backed until the back of his knees hit the couch. Clint eased them both down, Natasha comfortably nestled in a straddle on his lap.

A smirk was ever present on those kiss swollen lips. "So, what?"

He traced soothing patterns up her thighs, trying to keep focused on her eyes and not the perfectly inviting breasts in his face. "I told you using a bow was better than using a gun."

She gave him that "really?" look again, fingers combing affectionately through his now messier hair. "Let me show _y_ou why guns are still superior."

"If it's anything like this lesson, I'll consider it."

Natasha still preferred guns over a bow and arrow.

But she relented, if Clint kept giving her lessons like these- she pressed another kiss to his lips, he hummed appreciatively. She could consider thinking that using a bow and arrows wasn't such a bad way to go.

* * *

_Black Widow and Hawkeye do not unfortunately belong to me. Nor do I own the Avengers or any Marvel characters *sad face*_

_Sooo I discovered I'm a pretty big BlackHawk fan and this idea came to me when I was reading my Hawkeye comic (My Life As a Weapon). I just thought it would be a funny cute little piece so I hope you enjoyed!_

_Please let me know what you think~ Reviews are always Welcome!_


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